Hilariously Ever After

by Box Set

  Violet stares at the wall and fidgets with the collar of her shirt. I want to do the same. The interview was horrifically invasive. I was appalled by the questions and that Dick had approved them.

  Me: “That’s quite the rumor.”

  Interviewer: “Would you like to substantiate it? I’m sure your female fans out there would like to know.”

  Me: “Like I said. I don’t kiss and tell.”

  Violet hits pause. “Right there.” Despite her triumph, I can see it’s all bravado.

  “That’s not an admission of anything.”

  “It’s certainly not a denial.” She crosses her arms over her chest. No one really challenges me unless I’m on the ice. It makes me want to follow through on the conference table fantasy, but the interview is ruining my chances of that ever happening.

  “It’s an old interview.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? You made no attempt to correct them if they were wrong, which is hard to believe.”

  “The media likes to twist things around.”

  “Do they? You’re the one who showed up at my hotel room in the middle of the night so we could ‘hang out.’ You’re the one with the sleeve of damn condoms at the ready. Judging from all the shit floating around out there on the Internet, I don’t think the media is far off the mark.” She flails, pointing at the screen, then me, and then the screen again.

  “I’m trying to explain—”

  “Why bother? I don’t get it. I’m just another woman you’ve stuck your monster cock in. I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t need to account for where else you’ve put it.”

  Her eyes are shiny, the way my sister’s get when she’s on the verge of tears. Oh shit. What if I make her cry?

  “I want a chance to defend myself before you lump me in with all the other assholes out there.”

  “You’ve done a pretty good job all on your own.”

  The door rattles, followed by a soft knock. “Violet?” It’s a deep male voice. I don’t like it.

  Violet’s relief isn’t what I want to see. She tries to sidestep me, but I’m bigger, faster. A decade of figure skating helps. Violet trips over my foot, giving me the perfect excuse to touch her.

  It happens in one of those slow motion sequences. As she falls, I wrap my arm around her waist and spin her body toward me, righting her. She ends up pressed against me, her face mashed into my chest. She’s so warm, and small, and soft in all the right places. She smells fantastic—like fabric softener and fresh shampoo. She lets out the tiniest whimper, gripping my shoulders rather than pushing away. Of course, the guy on the other side of the door ruins the moment by knocking again rather vigorously.

  “I-I need to let Dean in,” she says softly, her eyes fixed on my chin.

  “I want to ask one thing first.” I hold her tightly, battling an inconvenient hard-on.

  “I need to . . .” Her fingernails dig in harder, and I feel the slight shift of her hips. That last part may be wishful thinking.

  “Have coffee with me. Or tea or beer, whatever you want to drink. We can even go for chocolate milk. I just want to talk.”

  She peers up at me, her chest brushing against my ribs. I remember with unparalleled clarity what her nipples feel like in my mouth. I’m getting harder by the second. If she feels it, I’m screwed. Letting her go isn’t an option until she agrees to go out with me. It’s a conundrum.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to have a drink with me?”

  “Because I like you. Because you’re fun. Because I want to get to know you better. Because I want you to see for yourself I’m not the kind of guy you think I am.”

  Her silence lasts a long time. “One drink.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nods.

  “Are you free this afternoon?” I don’t want to give her a chance to change her mind.

  “I should be done at five today.”

  “I could take you for dinner—”

  “No meals. Only one drink.” Her grip on my shirt loosens, and her fingers slide down my arms. “There’s a coffee shop across the street. I’ll meet you there.”

  Dean knocks again. I unlock the door, open it two inches, and hold up a finger while giving him my fuck-off-or-I’ll-beat-you-with-my-hockey-stick look. Then I close it again and turn to Violet.

  “You’re not going to ditch me, are you?”

  “I don’t see the point. You’ll probably break into my house and I’ll find you hiding in my closet or under my bed if I do,” she says dryly, eyebrow raised as if challenging me to disagree.

  “I don’t think I’d go that far.” Even I have my boundaries in this stalking business.

  “You’ve locked me in a conference room with you. Who knows your limits?”

  Before Dean has a coronary, I flip the lock and open the door again. He glances between me and Violet.

  “Alex Waters?”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve delayed your meeting.”

  “Can I get you, anything? Coffee? Water? Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

  I swear I hear a hand job come from behind me. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.

  “I’m good. I already got what I came for.” I turn to Violet, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Even her ears are pretty. “I’ll see you at five.”

  “Okay.” She blushes and touches her hair, her smile suddenly shy.

  Score one for Waters.

  Chapter 9

  I’M STILL NOT SURE WHAT I’M DOING

  Violet

  Dean gawks as Alex walks down the hall. “That was Alex Waters.”

  “Yup.”

  Alex’s hands are shoved in his pockets and his head is bowed. His shoulders are so broad he nearly takes up the entire hallway. He’s a hard man to say no to. Coffee in a public venue seems safe.

  Dean waits until Alex turns the corner. “He was here to see you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s even hotter in person than he was in those pictures of you two making out.”

  “What?”

  “Uh, uh . . . I, uh . . . sorry. I didn’t mean . . . you look hot, too.” Dean busies himself with rearranging folders on the conference table.

  “Why is everyone so hot for Alex Waters?” I grumble. I’m annoyed at how easily I’ve fallen into this trap.

  I attribute it to how good he looks when he’s clean shaven and nervous. I want, in a very desperate way, to believe he’s not a fuckwit-asshole-super-whore. I’m still glad I kept my appointment with the gyno last week. Bagged or not, I wanted to make sure I hadn’t contracted any diseases from chomping on rotten wood. From what I’ve read and seen, I’ve slept with a man who’s been with the equivalent of a brothel or two of women. I’m grateful all the results were negative.

  “Please tell me you’re going to bang him.”

  I choke on a cough. “We’re going for coffee.”

  “That’s almost a date. You can totally have sex with him afterward.” Dean nods vigorously, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  Charlene and Jimmy show up and save me from Dean’s inanity.

  “Charlene told off Alex Waters!” Jimmy says, gesturing wildly to the empty hall.

  I gape in disbelief. “Charlene did what?”

  “I didn’t tell him off. I gently suggested he watch his ass or he’ll have me to deal with.”

  “You didn’t.” I palm my face, mortified.

  “He seemed very agreeable. All he did was nod a lot and apologize. I also asked if he could introduce me to Darren when you two are done making up. He offered to send tickets to the next home game, provided I bring you.” Charlene is all smiles.

  I can’t believe Charlene sold me out for tickets to a game. She’s seen the Waters Hat Trick interview, I told her about the sexin’, his monster cock, the puking, the relentless emails, texts and phone calls, as well as the assload of gifts I’ve received courtesy of Alex Waters.

  “You can�
��t be serious.”

  “Oh, I’m totally serious. I’m not passing up a chance to see Darren Westinghouse play.”

  “Charlene, what if I don’t want to go to a game? What if I never want to talk to Alex ever again?”

  Charlene turns my laptop toward her and checks out the interview again. I’ve probably made her watch it half a dozen times, dissecting the content or lack thereof. She seems far less offended by his non-responses. In all fairness, she hasn’t slept with him.

  She props her chin on her fist, eyeing me speculatively. “He told me you agreed to coffee, so you must want to see him.”

  “Who says I’ll see him again after this?”

  “I understand the media stuff bothers you, but he seems to be honestly interested in you. I mean, it’s been weeks and he’s actively pursuing you even though you keep blowing him off.” A smug smile is plastered across her face. “Oh, and nowhere in this interview does he say he’s done that Hat Trick thing. All he does is give evasive answers.”

  “He doesn’t refute the claim.”

  “He was probably coached.”

  “As if that’s any better.”

  Even my best friend is on Waters’ side. I blame it on his damn smile.

  Today makes every other long day seem short by comparison. Meetings drag. Lunch takes forever. I’m distracted all afternoon working on one of the new accounts. I keep daydreaming about Alex’s unit, comparing it to household items.

  At five, I freshen up in the staff bathroom. I swish with my emergency mouthwash and give my teeth a quick brush. It’s bad practice to go into a meeting with coffee breath, or garlic breath, or any kind of offensive breath. I’m applying the same logic to coffee dates. Although I’ll negate the fresh breath as soon as I order a coffee. Regardless, I have no intention of kissing Alex. I think.

  I reach the lobby at quarter past five. Alex is sitting on the arm of a chair, staring at the elevator. He stands, smoothing his hands down the front of his pants. I follow the movement and, of course, my eyes go right where they’re not supposed to—his groin. I can’t see anything exciting going on there. He’s changed since this morning and now wears a pair of dark wash denim jeans and a button-down shirt. The material conforms to his hot body, showing off every deliciously cut inch of chest and biceps and shoulders. Why does he have to look so good? I’m so pucked.

  “I thought we were meeting at the coffee shop.”

  “I thought we could walk over together.”

  “And you didn’t want me to stand you up?”

  His smile is lopsided, one dimple popping out. “Something like that.”

  “I could still run.”

  “You could try. I’m pretty fast if I’m chasing after something I want.”

  The butterflies flitting around in my stomach reach tornado level flutters. Images of him moving across the ice, power and speed propelling him forward, come to mind. Alex chasing after me with the same kind of singular, intense focus is a huge turn on.

  He extends his hand. “It’s only a drink and some conversation, Violet. That’s all I’m asking.”

  The way he says it reminds me of the night in his hotel room when he told me he just wanted to hang out and then I had sex with him. I slam down the gauntlet on those thoughts. I have to remind myself of the bad reputation he has yet to refute properly. I don’t want to be one of his hockey hookers.

  It’s dark out. Fat snowflakes drift lazily from the sky as we cross the street to the little café. I used to come here when I was an undergrad. Right now is prime time for those kids between afternoon and evening courses. It’s still my favorite place to go for coffee and snacks.

  A fire crackles in the wood-burning fireplace. The table in front of it is empty, with a reserved sign. It’s the comfiest spot in the café and romantic with the fire and the low lighting. I’m almost glad it’s unavailable.

  “Why don’t you have a seat and I can order something for you?” Alex sweeps his hand toward the table by the fireplace.

  “It’s reserved.”

  He leans in and whispers, “I reserved it.”

  Of course he did.

  I follow him to the counter to check out my options. I already know what I want.

  Alex wraps his fingers around my wrist when I go for my wallet. “I’ll get it.”

  “I can buy my own drink.” I sound harsher than I mean to. He’s being so attentive and considerate. It makes me nervous, but I like it.

  “I invited you; please let me get this.”

  The way he’s looking at me breaks my damn heart. “Okay. Fine.”

  A hint of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. His palm settles low on my back, and he strokes my spine. It’s distracting. “What would you like, Violet?”

  “A green tea latte, non-fat, lactose free, with extra whipped cream, please.”

  “Lactose free with whipped cream, eh?” Alex asks.

  “It balances the dairy out.”

  “Sure. Anything else?”

  I assess the extensive selection of desserts. Including food could open the gates for dinner and make this an official date. I’m unprepared to deal with an entire meal.

  “I’m okay.” I stare longingly at the caramel crunch cake.

  “Are you sure? These cakes look too good to pass up. I’ll feel bad ordering one if you don’t have anything in front of you.”

  Cake isn’t the same as real food, so I give in. Alex orders, and the girl behind the counter is saccharine, practically fucking him with her congeniality. Two can play at that game. Moving in closer, my boob presses against his arm. “Thank you,” I whisper in his ear.

  His eyebrows rise in surprise, followed by his easy smile. “It’s entirely my pleasure. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Alex insists I have a seat while we wait for our drinks and desserts. He even helps me out of my coat and hangs it on the rack near the fire. I sink into the plush chair and sigh, running my hands over the velvet covered armrests. I stare at his ass while he waits patiently at the counter for our order. I also pop a couple of lactose pills.

  I’m not the only person in the café looking at him. His presence is as big as he is. The guys seem just as interested in him as the women. A lot of people appear to recognize him. Maybe a college hangout isn’t the best place to have coffee with a famous hockey player.

  He brings the cakes to the table. His dessert is some kind of peanut butter chocolate concoction. Mine consists of pecan meringue nestled between layers of whipped cream, topped with caramel drizzle.

  Waiting until Alex returns with our drinks would be the polite thing to do, but I’m starving and it looks delicious. I skim the slice with the edge of my fork and gather a thin layer of whipped cream and bits of meringue. It’s the perfect combination of creamy and crunchy, dissolving as soon as it touches my tongue. I sigh in sensory ecstasy.

  “Is it good?”

  Alex startles me as he sets my green tea latte on the table. He’s close enough that I can see a tiny nick on his chin from his razor and the flecks of green and gold in his otherwise hazel eyes.

  He moves his chair closer to mine, so we’re side by side instead of across from each other, and settles into the soft velvet.

  “It’s heaven.”

  “Can I have a taste of heaven?”

  I don’t think he means for it to sound suggestive. He bites his lip as I dig my fork into the cake and pass it to him. Instead of taking it from me, he clutches my hand and raises the fork to his mouth. His lips part and close over the tines. Good Lord, I want to fuck his mouth with my tongue again.

  He savors the bite, his expression pensive as he swallows. “Want to trade?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe you want to go halves? Why don’t you try mine?” He jams his fork into the cake, ready to spear me a bite.

  “I’m not parting with my cake.”

  “Suit yourself.” He separates a hunk of cake from the thick piece. It’s dense, dripping with choc
olate syrup. His eyes drift close, and he makes a low sound in his throat. It’s almost a growl. “If yours is heaven, then this is a mouth-gasm.”

  “Mouth-gasm?”

  He leans in and lowers his voice to a whisper. “It’s an orgasm in my mouth.”

  In the middle of a sip of my latte, I raise my hand in time to prevent it from spraying him and the table. I get my palm and sleeve instead. He grabs a napkin and dabs at the mess.

  His cheeks flush, and he shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. It was unexpected.” I remember vividly what it was like to have an orgasm in his mouth. It was pretty amazing.

  He stirs his chocolate-whatever. It’s covered with whipped cream and drizzled with more chocolate syrup. I see a trend here. “I’m really glad you agreed to see me.” One second he’s being all flirty and the next he’s being sincere and vulnerable. I don’t know which side of him to trust, if any at all.

  “You wanted the chance to explain.”

  My stomach twists, so I leave the cake alone and focus on my drink. He clears his throat, staring into his hot chocolate. The table vibrates from the restless tapping of his foot against the floor. He’s such an enigma. I want these glimpses of sweetness and his awkward fumbling to be authentic, not a facade he wears to get women into bed with him. He takes a deep breath and looks up.

  “The way the media portrays me is inaccurate.”

  “Uh-huh.” Of course he’s going to say this.

  “Uh, excuse me.”

  The interruption breaks the tension. Two guys stop in front of our table.

  “Are you Alex Waters?”

  “Hey.” Frustration lies under Alex’s smile.

  “I told you, man!” He smacks his buddy on the arm, his excitement gaining momentum and volume. “I told him it was you! This is so cool. You’re like the best player in the league, hands down!”

  “Thanks, man. Listen—”

  “Can I get your autograph, man? No one’s gonna believe this!”

  “Yeah, sure.” Alex shoots me an apologetic look.